


there's catastrophe in everything I'm touching

by addtastic



Series: the awful edges where you end and I begin [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Pre-Season/Series 03, Stiles Has Nightmares, derek is bad at feels, fuck buddies, precious emotionally constipated idiots, stiles has the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4280739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addtastic/pseuds/addtastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The other shoe has dropped and Stiles doesn't really know what he is going to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's catastrophe in everything I'm touching

The blindingly bright shock of pain that moves from the point of impact to the tips of his fingers causes his legs to give out underneath of him. This is what dying feels like, he thinks, this has to be what dying feels like. His mouth is filling with blood from where his teeth clenched down on his tongue so hard that he’s sure he has almost bit it clean in half. Fuck. He’s alone. There isn’t anyone around to help him. “Scott!” he calls but it’s garbled at best because of the state of his injured tongue. There is an arrow stuck deep into his back, with each breath Stiles can feel the sharp point shifting against his spine. He tries to crawl forward, hopefully in the direction that he left his jeep, but it’s no use. His legs will not budge.

There are hunters, he knows this. They’ll be able to track the trail of blood he would undoubtedly leave as he drags himself through the leaves. They will also be able to hear him calling for help. Stiles doesn’t understand why they are shooting at him. He isn’t a wolf, he isn’t anything dangerous. What happened to their code? Allison had told him that they only hunt those who hunt them. Where in the hell was that now?  
It sure as fuck isn’t in the Beacon Hills Preserve.

He doesn’t cry though feels like he needs to, needs to do something. He can’t catch his breath, can’t scream. The beat of his heart nothing but a pounding bass drum so loud in his ears that it's impossible to hear if he is being followed. Still, the fight or flight response tells him to flee the scene. It doesn’t matter if he moves inch by painful inch at a snail’s pace. His labored, wheezing breath burns his lungs, which felt full and heavy, probably with blood. Black starts to creep in around the edges of Stiles’ vision and he knows enough to realize he was going to pass out soon. Maybe from lack of blood, maybe from the pain, or his brain shutting down because he isn’t getting enough oxygen, either way, his consciousness is on its way out.

There are hands pulling at his arms, but once Stiles had closed his eyes he can’t find the strength to open them again. Every tug sends a sharp ripple of pain through him. The force shifting the arrow again and again. His face is buried in a pile of crisp leaves. An earthen smell is overpowering everything but the hint of leather when the hands hoisted him to his feet. 

_Derek_

“Der-“ He coughs, straining to open his eyes. He needs to see Derek’s face. It's not real until he does.

He feels it then, the twist and pull of the arrow. He cries out. The head of the blade ripped out of him before it's plunged back in over and over. Stiles screamed then, specks of red flying from his mouth.

“Stiles!” He is being shaken. Derek was calling him, sounding far away. He is trying to tell him something, but Stiles keeps screaming, fingers fisted tight in the dead leaves and which are softer than they should be; too cool, too smooth under his fingers.

Forcing his eyes open, Stiles stares up into Derek’s face. He has seen the Alpha in various states of panic before yet this one was newt. The edges of his eyes, though wide, are soft with concern. Stiles' panic rose, if the situation could rouse concern out of Derek Hale than it truly must be dire. He was on his back, hands on Derek’s chest. Wait…that wasn’t right. What about the arrow? He had just been on his stomach, he had-

The pain was gone and Stiles sat up so fast he almost brained Derek with his forehead. It wasn’t the Preserve that he saw, it was the poster laden walls of his own bedroom. The leaves he had thought he’d been holding was Derek’s leather jacket. There were no hunters, no arrow. It was just a nightmare. Just another nightmare. “Fuck,” he hissed, heart still beating too fast. “So I’m not dying, then?” Derek shook his head, a large palm coming up to cup his cheek.

The gesture that earned Derek a confused head tilt from Stiles would have normally have earned him a eye roll, but Derek seemed equally surprised by his actions. “Your heart,” He explained, “I’ve never heard it beat that fast before.” He was whispering, his hand staying put. Stiles frowned. He looked to the clock which told him there was no point in going back to sleep. School started in less than 2 hours.

“What are you even doing here?” Stiles asked before he could stop himself. He hadn’t seen Derek in over a week. It didn’t make any sense he would have been at a distance to hear his pulse.

Derek abruptly stood up, only hindered by Stiles’ grip in his jacket. “I was-. I told you, I heard your heart, I thought something was wrong with you.” And after a beat, “More than the usual.”

Stiles rolled his eyes while Derek continued, “Does that happen a lot?” An answering nod was the only confirmation Derek received. Stiles wanted to yell at him, tell him that maybe if he stayed like Stiles had asked, he wouldn’t dream of being murdered every other night. “Okay.” Derek affirmed and stalked back towards the open window.

“Seriously? You’re just going to leave?”

“We’ve established you aren’t dying.”

“Fuck you.” There it was. The low hiss of anger that slid hot and with intent though Stiles’ clenched teeth. “Fuck you, Derek.”

“Stop being overdramatic.” Derek sighed, “You’re okay. So I’m leaving.”

“You don’t have to run off every time you feel an emotion. I’m not going to fall to the floor and profess my love for you or anything. Christ, you are such a robot.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“You kiss me, you fuck me, you listen to my heart enough to be able to tell if something is wrong, but you can’t sleep with me?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t.”

“That’s not good enough, Derek.” Stiles was on his feet charging Derek before he could stop himself. His palms were flat against the man’s chest, pushing at him so hard that it forced Derek to take a step back. Derek’s face was unreadable, pursed lips with an otherwise blank expression. “I need more than a ‘because.”

Logistically, if Derek really wanted to leave, both he and Stiles knew that he would have by now. But he didn’t. He stood firm, fingers lightly closed around Stiles’ wrists. “I can’t give you more.”

If he looked closely enough there was a double meaning to Derek’s words. He couldn’t give Stiles more of an answer just as he couldn’t give Stiles more than sex.

"Bullshit." he spat, "You're just a coward." 

The slight nod of Derek's stubborn head did not go unnoticed by Stiles. It burned behind his eyes, a slow blink cementing it to memory. They had arrived at an impasse, the pair of them. Stiles constantly reaching for something that Derek was hiding just beyond his outstretched hands. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair, but it was what they had. "I can't do this anymore." 

Stiles couldn't say that he loved Derek because he didn't. They had sex, great sex, but it was just sporadic fucking that managed to leave both parties satisfied. Could he say that he wanted there to be more? Yes, yes he could. Was he going to get more? Not when Derek made is so abundantly clear. Stiles dropped Derek's wrist like he was burned, "Leave. I know you're dying to. Just go." 

Derek hesitated, searching Stiles' face in hopes that the answer would be scrawled against his forehead. He looked conflicted. Stiles huffed, pushing him again, "Go!" He demanded, "I'm done with whatever this shit is going on with you and me." 

He couldn't bring himself to say 'between' anymore than he could 'us'. The weight of those words felt heaving on his tongue even though they refused to come out. And Derek took a step back, then another, his answering nod was definite this time. “Okay.” was all he said before the spot he was standing in was just another empty space. The only thing left of him was the faint smell of his cologne and the rattle of the blinds that hit his shoulder as he passed through the window frame. 

+

Sleep didn’t happen for Stiles that night or for the three that followed. The same nightmare each time he fell asleep, yet this time Derek didn’t come to save him. No strong hands and broad chest were waiting for him to seek comfort in when his eyes flew open and he choked on the breath he couldn’t seem to catch. It wasn’t that he needed Derek, it was just that he didn’t want to burden Scott with his shit. Derek understood. Stiles knew he did. With everything that went down it had to have fucked Derek up. He had to get _it_. Whatever this was. 

The **Derek Hale** that sat in the recipient bar of an empty text taunted him. 

_How do you do it?_

Erased. 

_You make it look easy._

Erased. 

_How do you sleep alone?_

Erased. 

Stiles’ phone told him that it was 3:37. It was Saturday. No school meant that if he did manage to fall asleep, he could sleep in. it was presumptuous to assume that he would be allowed such a luxury. But when he put his phone down onto the nightstand, he laid on his back and started at the ceiling until his eyes were heavy enough to keep closed. 

He woke up screaming an hour later.


End file.
